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Gabby moved back closer to him, so close a silken strand of her hair brushed his cheek. ‘That truly sucks.’
‘Yeah. But, hey, somehow the conversation seems to have come back to me. What about you? Do you still want to write a book?’
‘No. There wouldn’t be any point.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’d rather focus on a job that brings me money.’ She paused. ‘Like this one.’
It was a timely reminder to them both that this was a job—that these few days were not real.
He took a breath. ‘Perhaps writing a book would make you money.’
‘Unlikely. The chance of success in the current competitive market is minuscule.’
‘But if you don’t try you won’t succeed for sure. Why not write in your spare time? Not for the money, but for the kudos of publication. You already have a job and security.’
‘Exactly. I’ve achieved the important things. The whole “write a children’s book” thing was just a daft dream.’
‘Dreams are important.’
‘Sure they are—but not dreams that can’t be achieved a
nd will most likely open you up to rejection.’
‘But you might get accepted.’
‘Unlikely—and getting rejected sucks. So I can’t see the point of inviting it.’
‘But—’
‘There is no but. Subject closed. Let’s not spoil this with a pointless argument.’
Stop. Quit.
Gabby was right. Yet he couldn’t shake the idea that he was missing something, and he asked a question on instinct. ‘You’ve already written it, haven’t you?’
There was a silence. Then a shrug. ‘Yes. Though I don’t know how you figured that out.’
Instinct, and the knowledge of Gabby he had somehow garnered. ‘Then why not send it out?’
‘I didn’t write it for publication. I wrote it for me.’ A small shrug and then, ‘Maybe if I ever figure out relationships and have children, I’ll read it to them.’
Children. The word was another reminder of just how different he and Gabby were. Gabby could picture a world where she was a parent—she actively wanted that responsibility. Zander couldn’t and didn’t. But right now that didn’t matter.
‘Anyway...’ She said the word with finality. ‘Can we change the subject?
He bit down on his instinct to urge her to send her story off, to do what he would do—strive after success. Gabby had been deemed not good enough by her mother, not good enough to give up her lifestyle for. She had been terrified she wouldn’t be good enough to be kept by her grandparents, and she believed she had played a part in both her relationships ending in infidelity. Perhaps it was no wonder she didn’t want to risk being judged not good enough again.
No wonder she wanted to settle for an ‘ordinary’ bloke. Maybe the best thing he could do was tell her that he thought she was good enough.
‘Yes, we can. But first I want to say I believe that those children of yours will be really lucky. To have the chance to listen to your story, but most of all to have you as a mum.’
For a second he’d have sworn a tear glistened on the end of one of those impossibly long eyelashes, but then she pulled him towards her and her generous lips curved into a smile of sheer beauty.
‘You say the loveliest things. But now I think it’s time to stop talking.’
He laughed, ‘And show you some action?’
